


Fits Like a Glove

by AceMoppet



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is smitten as a kitten and honestly we need more of that in this fandom, But I do what she does when I fidget and I have ADHD so yeah there we are, Crowley (Good Omens) has ADHD, Doesn't factor into this story much, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Gratuitous Use of the Word 'Condom', Madame Tracy just rolls with it, No one uses them tho, Not as they're meant to be used, Oh yeah this isn't NSFW btw, Other, Unless you count condoms as nsfw, Well - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: “Hey angel, what’s that on your counter?”“Well, my dear, I do believe that this is a condom.”Or, Aziraphale and Crowley finally get together, and someone sends them a basket full of condoms.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 146
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Fits Like a Glove

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao I had this idea back in December and I decided to jump on it because why not? Been wanting to do something with ace husbands for ages!
> 
> It's been a long while since I've written something happy for this pairing; I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a comment or kudos if you do!

“Hey angel, what’s that on your counter?”

Aziraphale looks up from where they’ve been doing some minor restorations on a new second-edition they’d gotten earlier that week. 

(The seller had tried to sell them it as a first-edition, but Aziraphale is no fool, at least, not when it comes to books. They’d figured it out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and had kindly and patiently lectured the man until he’d decided to give it to them for half-price.

Crowley had said that they’d bullied the man. Aziraphale had merely huffed in indignation and dropped a pillow on her very snakey head.)

“Not sure what you’re referring to, dearest,” they say, craning their neck to see what Crowley is looking at. “You must be more specific than that.”

“This,” Crowley says, holding up a small blue packet. Frowning, Aziraphale adjusts their (completely unnecessary) glasses. Crowley takes it as her cue to walk over to their desk and gives it to them with a curious look.

“Hm,” Aziraphale says. “I do believe I know what this is, but I’m not sure  _ why  _ this is even here.”

“Well, what is it, then?” Crowley asks, fidgeting with curiosity. 

_ It’s really quite endearing,  _ Aziraphale thinks, utterly entranced by the way Crowley shifts from foot to foot and rubs her thumb and forefinger together. They shake their head to dispel the lovesick awe and clear their throat. “Well, my dear, I do believe that this is a condom.”

Crowley’s eyes, not hidden behind her glasses, bulge. “A  _ wot?!” _

“A condom, my dear,” Aziraphale says blandly. They bite the inside of their cheek to keep from laughing when Crowley’s eyes grow wider. “It’s a contraceptive that those with penises wear during sex. If I recall correctly, I believe it reduces the chance of getting an infection as well.”

“N- you- I-” Oh, Aziraphale is such a bastard, but it’s just so entertaining to see Crowley, clever, wily Crowley, all tripped up over words. “ _ urgh!  _ I know what a  _ condom _ is, angel! But what is it doing here?! For that matter, how do  _ you  _ know what a condom is?!”

“In answer to your second question, my dear, I live in Soho.” Aziraphale bites back a chuckle at Crowley’s surprised “ngk!” Then they frown. “And as for your first… hm. I’m not sure.”

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley. “Was this the only one you found on my counter?”

“Well, there  _ was  _ a basket on the counter too... think that must’ve fallen out of it.”

Sure enough, when Aziraphale stands up, they can see a brown wicker basket. For the people in the audience, it’s the type of basket that’s not really a basket, but is instead meant to be a type of decoration in your mother’s kitchen. Perhaps it contains some fake apples or some other fruit of your choosing to give off that homely aesthetic.

Aziraphale, of course, knows nothing about using baskets for decoration, and so to them it just looks like another brown wicker basket. Except, of course, for the colorful shredded paper and the even more colorful boxes, one of which seems to match the metallic blue of the packet that’s in their hand right now.

“I think you’re right,” Aziraphale says absently, heading over to the counter. They hear Crowley follow them, lanky steps clicking ever so often on the hardwood floor. “I wonder…”

They reach the counter and take a closer look at the basket’s contents. The basket is indeed full of boxes of condoms in all sizes and colors. 

“Who-ee,” Crowley says, eyes wide. She picks up the nearest one and makes a face. “‘Ribbed’? What in the world does  _ that  _ mean?”

“Not sure,” Aziraphale murmurs. They pointedly do not think about how they’ve suddenly become reminded of their favorite rib house that they haven’t actually been to in a while, and wouldn’t it be a good date to take Crowley on later this week, because they know she likes gnawing at those ribs-

“Angel, I think there’s a note here.”

Aziraphale blinks out of their daydream to find Crowley frowning at a creased piece of paper. “So there is. Read it to me, darling?”

Crowley gives them a look over the top of the paper. Aziraphale pouts ever so slightly, and Crowley sighs. “Fine,” she grumbles, smoothing out the paper as much as possible. She clears her throat. “Dear Mr. Fell…”

“Congratulations on finally getting together with your partner- wait  _ wot?!” _

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says, eyebrows furrowing upwards. “Crowley, I did ask you to be in a relationship with me, right?” It would be just their luck that Aziraphale somehow forgot to do that very thing, and that means that they’ve somehow spent the last two months dithering in the delusion that the two of them have been dating when in reality...

“Of- of course you did!” Crowley splutters, making Aziraphale sigh in relief. “But just  _ how  _ did this bloke get to know about it?”

“I suppose I’ve told a couple of people about you,” Aziraphale says. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, my dear; I can’t help but talk about you! You do make me so happy after all.”

“Heh, ngk, mm.” Crowley turns back to the paper, but Aziraphale notes that the tips of her seashell ears are as red as her hair, and they have to smile as Crowley tries to find her place in the letter again.

“Right, right, think we were here…”

“Congratulations on finally getting together with your partner. We’re so glad that you took that leap! Happy endings for both of you- Holy  _ Hell _ these people are chipper-”

“Never mind that,” Aziraphale says, waving. “Who’s it from?”

“Uhhh, Godmother.”

“Ah, Shelley,” Aziraphale says, nodding. “That makes sense, then.”

In fact, now that Aziraphale sees the writing, they wonder how they didn’t see it before; only Shelley would ever write that bombastically.

“Who’s  _ Shelley?” _

“One of the local dominatrixes,” Aziraphale murmurs, eyes shifting back to the basket. Just what  _ are _ they going to do with all this?

“H-hang on, did you just say  _ dominatrix?”  _ Crowley demands. Her eyes are wild with shock and confusion. “Aziraphale!”

“Hm?” They pick up a random box and shake it. The contents sound rather like a box of cards, and if Aziraphale didn’t know any better, then perhaps that’s what they would think they are.

_ RIP! _

Aziraphale blinks and turns around. Their eyes widen. “Crowley, what are you doing?”

“Hm?” Crowley snaps away the wrapper and pokes at the condom, making a face at the texture. “Eugh, feels rubbery. Sort of like those balloons Warlock used to like.”

Aziraphale watches in bemusement as Crowley stretches the condom with a frown. Suddenly, a mischievous smile splits her face, and Aziraphale feels their stomach sink. “My dear, please don-”

Crowley sticks the end in her mouth and  _ blows. _

It should be clarified here that the author, like Crowley, has never actually held a condom before. Therefore, the author, like Crowley, has never actually blown a condom balloon before. However, the author, like Crowley, would like to think that blowing a condom balloon is just like blowing a regular balloon. Thus, Crowley blows into the condom as one would blow into a balloon, and the condom inflates exactly like a balloon would.

“Ha!” she cries. She ties off the end in glee. “Guess we  _ can _ do something with these after all!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, shaking their head. “I was hoping we could donate them.”

“But angel,” Crowley whines, shaking the balloon. “Balloons!”

Aziraphale suppresses another sigh; it wouldn’t do to get so huffy, even if Crowley was being ridiculous. Honestly, it was part of her charm anyways. “My dear, are you planning on blowing every single one of these condoms up? When there’s almost a dozen to a box?”

“Baker’s dozen? Or regular dozen?”

Aziraphale splutters. “D-Does that matter?”

Crowley looks over the basket, and Aziraphale can almost see the gears in her head turn as she thinks it over. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, and Aziraphale sees how much it pains her. “Bit much even for me.”

She looks Aziraphale in the eye. “We’re keeping two of them,” she demands.

Aziraphale blinks. “Two?” they say incredulously. “Why two?”

“Well,” Crowley says, sniffing, “One’s for regular balloons. The other’ll be for balloon animals.”

“B-Balloon animals?”

“Yeah you know, like poodles and snakes and stuff,” Crowley says, waving her hand around. She looks back at the basket and frowns. “Shame we can’t keep all of them; we could make a veritable ark with how many they’ve given us.”

And isn’t  _ that  _ an idea. For a moment, Aziraphale is tempted to let Crowley build a balloon replica of Noah’s Ark… but then they remember that Crowley would be building it out of condoms, and well. They may be immortal, but they have to draw the line  _ somewhere. _

“Perhaps another day,” they say, picking the basket up. “Maybe with real balloons, that time. Until then...”

“Right.” Crowley rummages around for a bit, before picking another box from the basket and laying it aside. “So, where are you thinking of donating those to?”

“Well, we can’t really donate these to any organizations now; the poor dears would either have to look into all these boxes for signs of tampering or throw them out entirely.”

“Eugh,” Crowley says, making a face. “I mean, I get why they have to do that, but it sucks that they have to at all.”

Aziraphale hums. “Quite.”

“Right. So then where…?”

“Well,” Aziraphale says, walking over to the telephone. “I do believe Madame would enjoy this particular batch.”

“Madame?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale hushes her and dials a number. Crowley complies, but not without a barely audible grumble that makes Aziraphale glare at her even as the line connects.

“Hello? Mr. Fell?” 

“Ah, dear Madame! How have you been?”

“Oh Mr. Fell, I thought I told you to call me Tracy!”  _ Ah,  _ Crowley thinks.  _ That makes sense. _

“Madame, really,” Aziraphale says, sputtering. “That wouldn’t be proper-”

“Proper nothing! I insist!”

“Yo, Tracy,” Crowley calls out from the back. She resolutely ignores Aziraphale’s indignant spluttering, knowing they’d get all fussy over names and such. Really, she did them all a favor; if she hadn’t interrupted, Aziraphale would have spent the whole conversation trying to get Tracy to let them call her Madame, and then they would have been left hours with an undoubtedly hungry and disgruntled Aziraphale, a bemused and disgruntled Madame Tracy, and a basket full of useless condoms. “How’s it going?”

“Is that you, Mx. Crowley?”

“In the flesh,” Crowley drawls. “Got a little present for ya.”

“Oh?”

“How would you like a basket,” and here, Crowley takes the old, wickered thing from Aziraphale’s hands, “full of condoms?”

“...Come again?” Tracy says delicately.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale grumbles. “Crowley that’s not how you-“

“Shhhh angel, I’ve got this.” She turns back to the phone. “Turns out one of our neighbors think we uh- well that we-“

“Make love,” Aziraphale interjects. “On the regular.”

_ Make love?  _ Crowley thinks. Honestly, the amount of whiplash she’s been getting in the past hour is getting old, so she stuffs that thought in the back of her head to tease Aziraphale about later and says, “Ri- ngk- yeah. And we don’t need them so…”

“So you’d like me to take them off your hands for you,” Tracy finishes. “I can do that!”

“Great!” Crowley snaps her fingers, and the basket disappears. “Should be on your bedside table.”

“On my bedside table? Oh dear-”

“Jezebel! There’s witchcraft afoot-”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. “Is that-”

“Oh come now, Mr. Shadwell, that’s not witchcraft! It’s just a gift from our good friends-”

_ -‘Good friends?’  _ Crowley mouths. Aziraphale swats her-

“-Mr. Fell and Mx. Crowley!”

They hear someone spluttering in the background. “Those two! Those two are-”

Undoubtedly, the following exclamations would have been full of richly vulgar language, so the good Madame thanks them for the gift and hangs up, though not without extending an offer for tea the following week. 

“Do think on it!” she trills. Then she hangs up with a click.

“Well,” Crowley says, after some moments have passed. “That was a thing.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale straightens their jacket. “Back to work I suppose.”

“Rather thought it was time for lunch,” Crowley says, nonchalantly looking at her watch. “How about I tempt you to some?”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says, smiling. “You know I can’t resist your temptations! And I know just the spot too!”

“Oh?”

(Spoiler alert: it was the rib house.)

  
  
  



End file.
